Summer Rain
by Rice-Ball247
Summary: HVD! Have you ever fallen in love with someone you shouldn't have fallen in love with? It was the summer of my eighteenth year when I fell in love. But I didn't have the heart to steal him away from the people awaiting him at home. implied LMHP and DMHP


_It was the summer of my eighteenth year when I fell in love._

_He and I… our love was an earnest, passionate love, that burned as bright as the sun that scorched the July sky._

_But… I didn't have the heart, nor the courage, to steal him away from the people awaiting his return at home._

_So I ran away._

**Summer Rain**

"_Harry…" _

He gazed up at the house that had been his home for the first eighteen years of his life. After ten years, still, nothing had changed. The house was exactly the same as the day he had run away – same roof, same walls, same garden. The door looked like it had recently gotten a fresh coat of white paint; so did the fence.

But nothing had changed. It was as if his hometown had been caught in time, frozen in a timeless world where nothing _ever_ changed.

"_Love you… so much. Don't leave, please, don't!"_

He could only hope that his mother still lived here. If Lily had moved away within the last ten years, Harry didn't know what he'd do next. His father had passed on when Harry had turned twenty-one, but at the time, no one had known where to find him, so he hadn't found out until recently.

He hated how selfish he was. Running away, causing his parents to worry; his father had died, leaving his gentle, sweet mother to grieve alone, to live alone for all these years. If she was still living here, Harry would be eternally grateful.

"_I don't know what I'd do without you, my sweet, sweet Harry…"_

Sucking in a breath, Harry unlatched the gate. It took a little extra effort and a good kick to get the creaking gate to open. Again, he took a moment to pause and glance around the garden. His mother, being the patient person she was, had a natural talent for gardening. One could tell with just a glance that this front garden was very much loved by whoever occupied the little, blue house behind it.

"_Kiss me. Just kiss me, now, and hold me. Don't let me go. Don't leave me."_

Harry hoisted his backpack higher up onto his shoulders, mindful of the suitcase he had also brought with him. Checking himself once over again (his mother was strict with proper appearances) and pushing back a wayward lock of hair from his face, Harry strode up to the door and knocked thrice.

He waited for a response, but after a few moments, it seemed that no one was at home. It was only noon, after all, so perhaps (if she still lived there) Lily had gone out. He knocked again, this time, a little louder.

"_Harry… I love you, Harry."_

Sighing when there was no response yet again, Harry decided to retire for the day and stay at a nearby inn. He was about to leave, when a voice from the gate stopped him.

"H-Harry?!"

Blinking, Harry took in the image of his beloved mother, Lily Potter, her arms full of groceries that looked as if they were about to clutter to the floor in her shock. Her eyes, dulled from sadness over the years, lit up like Harry remembered when he was younger. Her vibrant red hair was shot through with streaks of grey.

"Mum," he greeted her warmly, dropping his backpack to the floor and leaving his luggage at the door, as he quickly rushed to his mother. Ignoring the bundle in her arms, he threw his own arms around her thin shoulders and embraced her. "I've missed you so much."

She was speechless as she embraced her only child who had finally returned after ten years. There were tears in her eyes as she dropped her groceries into the grass and clung to her son's shoulders, sobbing into his shirt. "You've come home. My Harry, you're home!"

"I'm home mum. I've missed you, I've missed you, I won't leave again," he repeated over and over again, a mantra that seemed to tap into some hidden part of his mind that he'd locked away long ago.

"_I'll die if you leave me. Don't leave me, Lucius."

* * *

  
_

Truly, nothing had changed. The interior of the house was the same as he'd always remembered it. The memory that had been branded into his memory was refreshed by the real visuals before him. On the mantle where his mother had placed a family photo, were two candles on each end, with a picture in front of each.

One for his father and one for himself.

It turned out that his mother had prayed for him everyday, hoping that he would someday return home. And she was so happy that it had worked. Elated, Lily had called all her neighbourhood friends for a welcoming home feast.

Their town was pretty small, and everyone knew each other, what they did, where they were going. When Harry had suddenly disappeared, everyone had been in an uproar. But after ten years, now that he'd returned, everyone seemed to want to reacquaint themselves with him.

Sadly, Harry noticed that _**he**_ was not present at his welcoming home party. Perhaps he and his family had really moved on with their lives, moved on and _away_ to greater places, with bigger opportunities for his son to have a better life.

Ignoring the sharp pang in his chest, Harry smiled at the people he had once known, and the generations that had come since he'd run away. He didn't know what it was, but children seemed to have an instant liking to Harry.

_Lucius had a son. A wife and son waiting for him at home._

He quashed the guilt that had engulfed him from the day their passionate affair had begun. Harry had sometimes wondered, 'if Lucius hadn't been a married man with a child, things would have been different.'

But at the time, Lucius' son had been eight, just ten years younger than Harry. There was no way that Harry could take away that child's father. He couldn't imagine if someone took James away from him and his mother. It was unbearable to think about it. But now James was gone. As was Lucius.

Sometimes, Harry had wanted to put the blame on Lucius' son. Even at eighteen, Harry still felt like a child, pettish and angry that a mere _kid_ was the reason he couldn't be with Lucius. But Harry understood.

He couldn't blame a child for being born.

* * *

"Harry, there's a letter for you."

Thursday morning – it had only been three days since he'd arrived home. For someone to be sending him a letter addressed to his parent's home… it was very strange. Being such a small community, there really _wasn't_ a need to send letters. It would have been more appropriate and efficient to visit that person yourself.

Blinking was the only response he gave his mother as Lily handed him the crisp, white envelope. He furrowed his brow as he stared at it. Aside from his name and address, it was completely unmarked. Frowning, he slid a nail beneath the flap and tore open the lip.

Shock seeped into him as he read the letter with continually widening eyes. His hands were trembling, his heart seemed to be caught in his throat. He tried to reread the words but his eyes were so watery, it was almost impossible.

'_Dear Harry,_

_Please excuse me for sending this letter so suddenly. But I had been out of town until just recently and had received news of your return on such short notice. _

_Many years have passed since you disappeared, but I must confess, not once did I forget you._

_Now that I am alone, I can think only of you. I want to see you again, that is, if it is acceptable to you._

_This Sunday, I will be waiting at the café on the hill, from opening to closing time. If you want to meet me, I will be there. _

_If you have found happiness with another person, then please ignore this letter. I will still be waiting there, regardless. _

_Sincerely,_

_Malfoy'

* * *

  
_

Waiting for Sunday to come had been agonizing. Each minute ticked by at snail-pace, which made waiting worse as Harry didn't feel up to leaving the house until that day arrived. His morning routines were perfunctory; shower, dressed, breakfast. Although unlike every other day, Harry's appetite had been seriously diminished. He wasn't hungry at all – instead, nerves had seized him from the moment he had woken up.

Lily gazed at her son worriedly as she did the dishes absentmindedly. Harry was frowning as he slipped a light jacket on. It was the middle of summer but it had been a bit cool recently and today, it looked as if they were expecting rain.

"I'll be going now," Harry kissed his mother goodbye and zipped up his jacket and grabbed his house keys. "Don't wait up for me, mum."

"Harry, stay safe."

"I will," he promised, hoping to God that this was one promise that he could keep, for once in his life.

Unluckily for him, the clouds chose to spill their rain the moment Harry was halfway across town. He could vaguely remember the café – he and Lucius had frequented it often when they were together, under the premise of close friends. It was a quaint little building, one of the first shops you would encounter when you climbed the gentle slope to the town square. He wondered if they, too, hadn't changed after all this time.

Muttering and grumbling under his breath, Harry pulled his jacket closer towards him in a pathetic attempt to gain some warmth. By this time, the rain had come down a lot harder than he would have liked and he still had no idea where on earth he was. Despite the fact that his hometown was little, it had impossible-to-navigate, winding streets and one could never be too sure where they'd end up if they took a wrong turn.

That's not to say it was a dangerous place to live – far from that – but Harry didn't like the idea of appearing like a drowned rat anytime soon.

As if a ray of light had shone down from the heavens, Harry recognized it almost straight away. He had needed to do a double-take, but he was correct. The café. Sighing a breath of relief and irritation, he quickly made his way to the door, trying to get himself as dry as possible beneath the outdoor shelter.

He was a sopping wet mess; nothing he could help himself with. Almost immediately, a waiter appeared at the door with a clean towel and an empathetic smile. With the promise of a free hot cocoa and a 'hope you don't catch anything', the waiter quickly headed off behind the counter.

Harry peeled off his jacket, grimacing as it stuck to him like a second skin. His hair stood on end the moment it came off and he quickly rubbed his arms in order to get some heat back into them. A cursory glance around the café told him that it was empty of any patrons, save for a blond young man sitting in a booth on his own.

Harry found himself a seat on the opposite side of the café, with a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the hill he had just climbed. The waiter arrived with a steaming cup of hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream and a small platter of sweet, crumbly biscuits. "Enjoy," he told Harry, before leaving. Harry nodded his quiet thanks to the man's retreating back and stirred the whipped cream into the hot beverage.

As rain pattered gently against the window, Harry allowed himself to delve into deep thought. In the ten years he had travelled, Harry had made many friends, yet he never stayed long enough for a friendship, much less a relationship, to develop. At some points during those ten years, he would travel with two companions who he met occasionally, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger.

Just last year, they had gotten married (Harry was the best man, of course), and what frightened Harry was that their hometown was a lot closer to home than he thought. The newlyweds resided in a beautiful, two-storey house just an hour's drive from Harry's town. In the time period between the present and their marriage, Harry had been allowed to stay with the couple.

It was by seeing the two interact with each other, holding each other so intimately, that Harry realized he didn't fit into their scene any longer. He needed to leave, yet he longed to settle down. He had had the chance for their type of happiness, nine years ago (at the time). But he had run away because his heart hadn't (couldn't, wouldn't) allowed him to steal Lucius Malfoy away.

So here he was, twenty-eight, and the last, true relationship he'd had was a little over a decade ago, when he was still a teenager. Depressing. Harry lifted the cup to his lips and took a tentative sip, pleased when the chocolate rolled over his tongue and warmed, rather than scalded. So engrossed in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed when the café's only other patron had approached him.

"Hey, are you alright? Mind if I sit?" a polite voice broke his train of thought. Harry snapped his head up and almost dropped his now empty cup. The young man looked like the splitting image of Lucius (impossible) only _much_ younger. Lucius would have been in his late forties by now.

Harry nodded and gently slid the chair opposite him so that the other man could sit. He thanked Harry and set down his own cup of coffee and biscuits. Harry wondered why he would want to sit by a complete stranger, but since he was waiting for Lucius to arrive, he didn't mind the company.

"You've been sitting there for almost three hours now, even though the rain has stopped," the young man pointed out with a quick glance at his own wristwatch and then a glance out the window. "Waiting for someone?"

Shocked at the passage of time, Harry checked his own wristwatch and, indeed, three hours had sailed on by and he hadn't even realized it. "Whoa. Three hours already? I didn't even realize it." No wonder his fingers had been cramping, Harry thought as he set his cup down and flexed his rigid fingers. "Yes, I am waiting for someone. But you've been here longer than I. Are you waiting for someone as well?"

The young man was silent for a moment, watching the occasional water drop outside the window in contemplation before he spoke softly, "I am. But the person that I'm waiting for will probably not be coming."

Harry had seen_ that _expression before, had mirrored it in his reflection many times in the ten years he had been gone. The lost look, that utter, heart-breaking devastation. In his heart, Harry hoped that whomever this young man was waiting for would come by soon. At least one of them would be happy.

"I guess that makes the both of us, right?" Harry gave him a lopsided smile, tapping his fingertips against the coffee-ringed table. The blond nodded in agreement and they settled into a comfortable quiet. A few minutes passed when Harry said, "Are you going to keep on waiting, then?"

The man stayed silent a moment longer. Harry entertained the possibility that he was either being ignored, or hadn't been heard, when he was finally answered. "I don't know. I knew from the start that the chances they would come would be slim. So I don't know why I'm still waiting."

There it was again, that expression of utmost hopelessness. It made Harry's heart quiver a little in familiarity and understanding. To lighten the mood, Harry joked, "Maybe because you really want that person to come, so badly, that you'd be willing to wait for so long?"

He hadn't expected the look of horror to slide across the young man's face. It made Harry wish he'd kept his mouth shut and butted out of other people's business. "Y-you're right. I… I've been hoping, wishing that they would come but--"

He cut off abruptly when he squeezed his eyes shut tightly and wiped at his eyes furiously with his sleeve. Harry waited patiently, even offering him a napkin, which was accepted and blown into hastily. When the other man had settled down, Harry gave him a warm smile and apologized.

"Don't. It's… it's not your fault," he trailed off, eyes staring at the window again, but Harry bet his left foot that he was looking but not _seeing_, lost in his own world. Then, he asked Harry a question that had come out totally left field. "Say, do you believe in everlasting love?"

Harry blinked, taken aback by the random question. And it was such a _personal_ question, too, if you considered it. Such a question should be asked by close friends if you expected a serious answer. But then again, sometimes it took a stranger to get the truest answer.

"It-it depends on the person, I suppose."

"What do you mean?" he replied, raising a blond brow. He looked confused, as if the answer he was looking for was a straightforward, honest truth.

Harry paused, looking for a way to word it. "I'll be honest with you. I really don't have a clue what the meaning of 'everlasting love' is. Like, if you loved someone until the day you die, does that make your love for them eternal? Does that mean that your feelings for them will remain unchanged even after your death?"

"_Harry… you and me, till the day I die."_

"_Pssh, Lucius! You're not _that_ old!"_

"_Brat. I'm trying to make a point here!"_

"_Well, since I'm still a little brat, I think you better make your intentions clearer. I don't think I understand you too well."_

"… _**Potter**_._"_

"_I know, I know," a sigh, "I love you too, Lucius. Till the day I die. Which, hopefully, will not be before you, because that means I won't die of old age – hey! Where are you putting that?! Don't! Lucius!"_

Harry received no answer for a full minute. Then, finally, "Wow." Harry tore his attention away from the rim of his porcelain cup, which he'd been staring at for the past minute. "You sound like a lovesick little girl."

Harry flushed immediately, "Wha-! Hey, I'm--"

At the other man's chuckle, he realized that it had only been lighthearted banter. "Chillax. I think it's kinda cool that you'd be willing to share something so intimate with a brat like me. Especially since I'm a complete stranger."

"You're not a brat," Harry answered adamantly, his thoughts drifting towards his memories once again. "And it's because you're a complete stranger that I'd be willing to talk like this. Chances are, we'd never meet again."

He got a sad smile in return, "Don't say that. You're a good person and you're nice to talk to. It hurts to think that once you make friends with someone, you'd never see them again."

Harry thought back to all the companions he'd befriended on his journeys. Chances are, he would never see them again and yes, the thought did hit a lonely, bittersweet note in a cavity, somewhere in his chest. Instead of gracing that with an answer, Harry shot back the young man's question. "What about you? What do you think about everlasting love?"

If Harry had a pound for every time he'd seen _that_ expression today, he'd be at least five pounds richer. When the blond replied, it sounded like the start of a story with a moral, rather than a straightforward reply.

"My parents got divorced when I was very little. Probably when I was around… oh, eight years old? Ten years ago seems like the right time," he paused with a faint smile, which Harry thought odd if you were meant to be reflecting upon a sad time.

_Ten years… ten years means a lot to me…_ Harry thought with a gentle pang in his chest.

"My dad fell in love with another _man_," here, the blond looked up at Harry from beneath his long lashes, as if waiting for a reaction from Harry. Seeing nothing, not even surprise, he felt slightly encouraged to continue. "And… mum found out. There was nothing but fights. Mum tried to keep it quiet, tried to keep me from finding out. I guess you could say that I was an intuitive child," he chuckled and Harry joined in, "I kinda had an inkling of what was going on. At least, that's what I remember it _felt_ like.

Anyway, that man that father was in love with… he left. Ten years ago, he just up and left without a word or glance behind. Despite that, my father's heart remained unchanged."

_Ahh. So this is where the question comes into play_…

The young man began to fiddle with the zipper on his jacket, tugging at it, pulling it up and down in jittery motions. "But… I loved my father, very much. I admired dad, a _lot_. Mum and I may not have been the ones he loved the most, but I'm positive he loved us very much."

"Don't say that," Harry interrupted him. "I believe that in the heart, there is no such thing as 'first place', or 'second place'. You make room and fit them all. Everyone is loved, especially the sweet boy I'm sure you would have been," at this, Harry balked, "err… continue."

The other man laughed lightly, his grey eyes (so familiar to Lucius!) lit up with mirth, before dimming slightly as he resumed his story. "Father remained alone. Up until the moment of his death, he never loved again. I guess… it was kind of, retribution, you know? I don't want to tarnish the memory of my father, but I suppose you could say that it was his _atonement_ for leaving us."

Harry quieted, knowing that this was definitely a moment where he should remain silent. He watched, with a heavy heart and dread filling his stomach, as tears began to build in the other man's eyes yet again. However, when the silence became unbearable, Harry decided to prompt the blond.

"He passed away?"

A small nod and a fond smile, "Yeah. A year ago, in a week."

Harry swallowed tightly. A week. For some reason, this knowledge made Harry's chest feel heavier. "At the time, I was sorting through father's old stuff. The residence was willed to me, so I decided to do a little house cleaning. I found _tons_ of letters," he laughed at this, "there was so many! It was like an archive or something. Each one of them was dated. He wrote almost every day, it's a wonder how he found anytime to do anything else, much less work for a living.

These letters, they were addressed to _him_. The man whom my father loved so dearly, with all his heart. Right up to his last breath," Harry didn't understand what this meant, but nodded for the blond to continue, "as cheesy as this may sound, my father never sent the letters. Of course, it makes sense, since this _man_ never had a fixed address. He was always moving around. The first few letters were returned letters, meaning they never reached their destination. I remember the fear my father felt. He thought the man had _died_, y'know."

Harry didn't know, but he nodded, yet again.

"And then… one day, my dad's ill health caught up with him. Ten years of grievance didn't sit well with his heart. He died a little, everyday, I reckon," those words sounded hollow now, yet at the same time, very painful. "In his dying moments, he called out that man's name."

_Right up to his last breath_. Finally, everything made sense to Harry and he had to blink rapidly a few times in succession to stave off the tears that threatened to rise.

"I was so _moved_. I'm not an easily impressed person but, at that moment, I was _speechless_. I cried along with him, wishing that my father's lover could be there, to hold him through the pain. It was the worst way to go, all alone even if I was there."

Harry ignored the tears which blurred his vision as he focused on the young man in front of him, his heart filled with so much compassion. He stretched a trembling hand and placed it on the blond halo of hair, sliding it around the back of his head and resting it upon a pale neck. He was warm. Harry closed his eyes for a moment and then he felt the returning arms of the other man slide across his shoulders.

They embraced across the table, awkwardly, for a few moments before breaking apart. Harry couldn't find anything to say. Even when he spoke, "There's… someone whom I loved so much, that I would never forget them until my dying breath," the words seemed so empty at that moment, because nothing, _absolutely nothing_, would bring back this young man's father.

Harry didn't know what to think now. Did he come here because the letter had given him hope? Was he merely clinging to old memories? Or did he still love Lucius?

There was one thing he knew for sure now. Closing his eyes, he said, so brokenly, "If I were to die, right at this moment… I think _his_ name would be the last to pass my lips."

Grey eyes, bright with tears, stared at him in understanding and Harry offered him a watery smile. It was a slight comfort, at the very least, that those eyes resembled Lucius' so much. Harry felt slightly better after that.

* * *

"There's still thirty minutes until closing time. You sure you want to leave now?" the blond asked, pulling on a pair of leather gloves. Harry nodded as he waved goodbye to the kind shop keeper who had allowed them to loiter in his warm café for so long.

The two walked a few steps, stopping as Harry pulled on his scarf. It _was _still chilly out, despite the reemergence of the sun.

"It was really refreshing to talk to you," Harry glanced up when the other man spoke again and he found that he could do nothing but nod yet again. They shared a secret smile and Harry felt himself warming from the inside out.

They stood together, neither wanting to move from their position in front of the café. Then, "Hey," the blond sounded nervous, "I… um, that is, I wouldn't mind… meeting you again."

A warm flush infused his cheeks and Harry was mortified to find his colouring just the same. He flashed the younger man a friendly smile, though, "Yes, I'd like to, as well."

The ringing of the café's outdoor bell broke through their moment. Harry turned and saw a man about to enter the café. _It's just a man_.

And the blond man turned suddenly, his grey eyes widening when he saw a man opening the door._ Oh, was that the person he was waiting for?_ Harry pushed down the feeling of disappointment in his gut.

"E-excuse me! Are you Harry Potter?"

It was at that moment, when Harry felt the cold chill seep into his very bones. He barely registered their voices in the background as his new (nameless) blond companion apologized for interrupting the other stranger. The blond returned to Harry's side with an annoyed huff.

"I knew it wouldn't be him," and he offered Harry a feeble smile, "no luck today then. Maybe I'll come back tomorrow."

_Hold on. This boy… could he be…_

"D-Draco?"

The blond blinked in surprise and his eyebrows rose. "Yeah, that's my name. Oh wait, I didn't introduce myself earlier, did I? How dreadfully rude of me. I'm sorry I--"

Harry blocked out everything else Draco said as he felt his heart _implode, explode it doesn't matter._ His knees gave out from beneath him and he collapsed to the brick pathway underfoot. He ignored the wetness that drenched his knees, the smell of soil and fresh rain couldn't even numb his senses. _So that means… Lucius is already…_

"H-hey are you alright?!" Draco's panicked voice cut through Harry's muddy thoughts. He bent down to help Harry up, extending a gloved hand.

Harry shook his head, ashamed to show Draco his crying face. "I… I'm so glad. I'm so glad to have met you, Draco." He felt Draco's warm hands grip under his elbow and effortlessly hoist him up. Then, with a sudden burst of resolved strength, Harry met Draco's eyes and said, "I'm Harry Potter."

Draco's jaw slackened, in that moment, his grey eyes, _so much like Lucius'_, widening. It was at that moment that Harry knew. Looking into Draco's young eyes, he knew that all of Draco's thoughts and memories were being rewritten in that moment.

"I'm sorry. Thank you. Goodbye," Harry whispered, losing the courage he had suddenly gained. He felt weak. Vulnerable. He couldn't do this anymore. It was time to go home. Unable to face Draco any longer, he turned and fled.

This was punishment. For falling in love with someone he shouldn't have fallen in love with. For breaking a family, wrecking a home, destroying the relationship between a father and a son. This was Harry's punishment.

_Or maybe…

* * *

  
_

"Harry, you have a letter!"

Exactly a week later, Harry Potter stared at the crisp, white envelope with dread. He knew whom it was from but he still didn't want to face the music. Not just yet. Despite this, he slid a nail beneath the seal and pulled the letter out.

_'Harry,_

_Even though I now know everything, it doesn't matter to me. I spoke to you as a complete stranger. I like you for _you_. I can now see why father fell in love with you. _

_If you wouldn't be opposed to the idea, I'd like to see you again. Same place on Sunday? If you want, you can say goodbye to father for the last time._

_In high hopes,_

_Draco Malfoy'_

Harry clutched the letter to his chest, finding himself suddenly winded. A smile crept onto his face as he pulled on his jacket and bid his mother goodbye.

_Or maybe this is the beginning of something new?_

**Start of Autumn**

**Rice-Ball247: **Yes, that's THE END of this story. I thought I'd end this fic differently. What do you think of it? Now first things last! This fic was based off a side story, also by the same title, from a manga called 'Oka no Ue no Rakuen' by Momoko Tenzen. If you recognized this when reading, you probably DO.

Any grammatical errors you see here are entirely of my own doing, i.e. this is unbeta-ed. I originally started writing this much earlier on, but decided to finish it for Valentine's Day. So Happy Valentine's Day to all (even if this was a little angsty).

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter or any affiliated characters. This story was based on the aforementioned manga.

* * *

_Confused? _If you wondered about the little details I may have left out in the story, I'll address them here (in case I may have to repeat myself). You can ignore them, but I advise you read them first before you ask questions later.

_'Why didn't Draco ask Harry if he was 'Harry Potter' when he first walked into the café?' _

In my mind, I had Draco think that Harry just came in so as to avoid the rain. With the way that Harry enters the café_, _it looks as if he his merely trying to avoid being caught in bad weather. I don't know, I suppose Draco is expecting 'Harry' to come in voluntarily. Does that make sense? It's like, Harry stumbled in just to get OUT of the rain (bad excuse, I know... but if you read the manga, you'll know why this is so difficult to put to SLASH).

_'If Lucius died a year ago, how come Draco sent the letter to Harry?'_

I figured he is curious about who 'Harry Potter' was. Perhaps Draco thought that if he sent the letter under his own name, Harry would not respond. Therefore he sends it under 'Malfoy', so technically, he's not _REALLY_ lying (and who knows, perhaps the eight-year-old Draco met Harry once before and is eager to meet him again?) and it looks like it's from Lucius.

_'Wouldn't Harry have recognized 'Lucius' (Draco's) handwriting?'_

Draco could have forged the letter, using his father's letters to go by.

A little background context wouldn't hurt either. Basically, Lucius stayed behind in the home town, keeping his old house, while Narcissa and Draco moved away. Draco visited his father often. In these ten years, Harry is travelling/backpacking around the world. When Lucius starts to fall ill, Draco decides to stay with his father. Lucius dies and Draco is given the house. While sorting through Lucius' belongings, Draco finds the letters to Harry that were never sent. He returns to his mother and reads them (alone of course), and decides he wants to meet the person who tore his family apart. As he reads the letters though, he finds himself unable to hate Harry (I suppose he could read into the love that his father felt for Harry). He returns a few days after Harry returns to his hometown and sends the letter. Therefore, he doesn't know who Harry is, because he missed the _homecoming party_.

Anyway. That's all from me. I hope you have a wonderful Valentine's Day. The next chapter of the Pursuit of Happiness should be up soon.


End file.
